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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28310676">Pokemon &amp; Bottle Rockets</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoal_moon/pseuds/charcoal_moon'>charcoal_moon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>we will open the book (its pages are blank) [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, Teen Titans - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(So is Tim Drake), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Family Bonding, Friendship, Gen, Jason Todd is Robin, Justice, Nebulous Timeline, do not copy to another site</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:35:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,645</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28310676</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoal_moon/pseuds/charcoal_moon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>[Right now, there’s a fourteen-year-old boy sitting in Wayne Manor’s library, and before Dick had gone and fucked it up, that boy had looked at him like he’d hung the moon and stars.</p><p>Dick blinks at the pair of brothers and dares to think, <em>I can fix things. I can have that too.</em>]</p><p>In which a run-of-the-mill mission ends up persuading Dick Grayson to be a better brother.</p><p>Unfortunately, that's not enough to save Jason Todd.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dick Grayson &amp; Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson &amp; Jason Todd, Dick Grayson &amp; Tim Drake</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>we will open the book (its pages are blank) [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073447</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>93</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello, hello! I humbly offer you some brand new nonsense. I hope you enjoy it!</p><p>This fic's title is taken from Space Ghost Coast to Coast by Glass Animals. I strongly encourage you to visit the Genius Lyrics page for the song in order to see why it applies to Dick and Jason's relationship.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Pokemon &amp; Bottle Rockets takes place sometime during the New Teen Titans (1980). I've shifted the timeline to the 2010s and am playing fast and loose with canon, though, so you can decide for yourself what applies and what doesn't!</p><p>This is only a fix-it in some ways. Plenty of other things are going to stay the same (as the Major Character Death tag probably told you). Regardless, I hope you have as much fun reading this as I did writing it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>People are screaming, the ground is shaking, and Dick Grayson has just narrowly escaped having his head taken off by a flying metal beam.</p><p>Basically, it’s Tuesday.</p><p>“Wondy, please tell me you’re in position,” he says into his communicator.</p><p>Somewhere above him, Donna Troy replies, “Star and I are ready, Nightwing. Just tell us when.”</p><p>Dick tucks and rolls underneath another projectile— it’s a car, this time. At least the villain’s got variety— and comes up with his face set in a scowl that would make Batman proud. The dime-a-dozen telekinetic sneers back and lifts his hands. Two lampposts start vibrating.</p><p>“Two of them? Seriously, dude, that's just overkill!” Dick quips. He sucks in a breath, ready to give his teammates the signal.</p><p>That’s when he hears it. A muffled whimper.</p><p>His head whips to the side so quickly that he hears three vertebrae crack. Huddled in the mouth of the nearby alley are two boys. The one in front (an elder brother, obviously. His arm is outstretched in a clear gesture of protection) is shaking like a leaf. The smaller boy is gazing at Dick with wide, hopeful eyes. </p><p>He wholeheartedly believes that Dick is going to make everything alright. And Dick will try, he really will— but he’s a nineteen-year-old running on caffeine and spite, and he doesn’t have powers. </p><p>That’s why, when the villain follows his gaze and notices the boys,</p><p>when his mouth curls into a vicious grin,</p><p>when he flings the lampposts,</p><p>Dick can’t do anything except dive towards them. He loops his arms around their waists and tackles them to the ground, knocking the air out of his own lungs with the impact.</p><p>The move is stupid, but it works. One of the posts crashes into the building to the left of them; the collision makes the whole structure shudder, and shards of stone and glass rain over his back.</p><p>The other post sails over their huddled forms and embeds itself into the ground. The awful, grating sound of crumpling metal washes over them, making one of the boys squeak in terror.</p><p>Dick decides that he shouldn’t wait for their luck to run out. “Wondy, Star, go!”</p><p>The sky lights up pink with the force of Kory’s anger, and then he hears a quiet thud: Donna, slamming the villain into the sidewalk. </p><p>Dick stays frozen, hoping that nothing else will come their way. When he finally deems it safe, he shuffles off the civilians and asks,</p><p>“Are you guys okay?”</p><p>“I— I think so?” The elder boy stammers as he gingerly sits up. Upon discovering that he is, in fact, in one piece, he crushes his sibling into a hug.</p><p>With his face buried in an argyle sweater, the younger boy cheers, “That sure was an adventure, brother o’ mine! Let’s do it again!”</p><p>“No! Absolutely not! We have officially reached our lifetime quota of dangerous events! What is this, the second one? The third?”</p><p>“I dunno, where are we counting from—”</p><p>Dick staggers to his feet and mechanically brushes dust off his costume. Dimly, he’s aware of Kory asking if he’s okay, of their other teammates wrapping up with the villain’s partner, of the distant <em> thump-thump </em> of a news chopper coming in. But his attention doesn’t stray from the boys. They’re playfully bickering, getting in each other’s space without a hint of violence in their body language.</p><p>Maybe it’s the exhaustion. Maybe it’s the lump of guilt that’s been sitting in his stomach for the past few months. Maybe it’s nothing at all—</p><p>—but Dick suddenly remembers being eight years old and begging his parents for a younger sibling. They’d laughed and told him they’d think about it. </p><p>Of course, they’d never gotten the chance. </p><p>So Dick is an only child. Always has been. </p><p>...except that right now, there’s a fourteen-year-old boy sitting in Wayne Manor’s library, and before Dick had gone and fucked it up, that boy had looked at him like he’d hung the moon and stars.</p><p>
  <em> You were Robin, right? That’s so fucking cool! </em>
</p><p>Dick had hissed something quiet and poisonous in return, because he was <em> furious, </em> so <em> incredibly </em> angry that Bruce (his partner, his father) had taken such a big part of him and <em> given it away.</em></p><p>He’d promised himself that he’d hold onto his rage for as long as he could. But eventually, remorse had crept in. It’s still eating at him, reminding him that Bruce’s bad decisions are not the fault of Jason Todd, who’s nothing but a kid with next to no one in his corner. </p><p>Dick blinks at the pair of brothers and dares to think, <em> I can fix things. I can have that too. </em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>To those of you that are celebrating today, Merry Christmas!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. of shroomish and successors</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello again! Thank you so much for the kudos; I wasn't expecting this kind of response, but I'm really grateful!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Honestly, Dick had half expected his authorization code to be denied. But the Manor’s main gate swings open at his touch, and he hesitantly steps onto a path he hasn’t taken in almost a year.</p><p>It’s odd how easy it is to walk up to the front door. It feels like it should take some monumental physical effort, given how mentally taxing this whole ordeal has been. </p><p><em> I need to calm down, </em> Dick thinks, ringing the doorbell. <em> I don’t even have to deal with Bruce today. </em> </p><p>The door opens. Dick looks up, ready to greet Alfred with a sheepish smile and a bullshit excuse, but the words die in his throat. </p><p>Jason Todd is staring down at him.</p><p>“The hell are you ringing the doorbell for? Don’t you have a key?”</p><p>Dick forces himself to laugh. “I don’t get a hello?” </p><p>Jason rolls his eyes and steps aside, letting him in. “Hello, Master Richard, and thank you for gracing us with your presence,” he says sarcastically.</p><p>“He calls me Master Dick, actually,” Dick corrects, taking off his sneakers. His tone may be light, but internally, he’s freaking out. He’d planned for a few minutes— if not a few hours— of mental preparation before having to see Jason. </p><p>But his luck’s never been that good. He might as well roll with it. He focuses his attention on the younger boy, who is now asking,</p><p>“Whatever. What are you doing here? You know the boss man’s in Germany, don’t ya?”</p><p>Dick flashes Jason an insincere smile. “Counted on it. Where’s Alfie?”</p><p>“Right here, dear boy,” the butler announces as he steps into the hallway. He opens his arms for a hug, and Dick gratefully bounds into the embrace. Out of all the things he’d left behind in Gotham, he missed Alfred the most.</p><p>“Hey,” he says into the old man’s shoulder. “How have you been?”</p><p>“Well, thank you. I see you’ve lost weight,” Alfred replies, releasing Dick. “Have you been eating?”</p><p>Dick subsists off of coffee and Hot Pockets, but if Alfred hears that, the acrobat will never hear the end of it. “Sure I have.”</p><p>Alfred fixes him with a capital-L Look. “As soon as I finish the laundry, I’ll make you lunch. Go wait in the parlor with Master Jason.”</p><p>“Sir, yes sir,” Dick salutes. He leaves Alfred with a wave and goes in search of Jason.</p><p>As the butler said, he’s in the parlor, tapping away at his phone. Dick assumes it’s a game of some sort, seeing as he doesn’t so much as glance at Dick when he enters.</p><p>“Hey. Whatcha got there?” He asks, perching on the coffee table.</p><p>“Pokemon,” Jason replies.</p><p>Dick frowns. “On your phone?” He’d thought that the game was reserved for handheld consoles.</p><p>“What are you, an old man? It’s Pokemon Go,” Jason retorts. “I’m only finding fucking Shroomish, though.”</p><p>“And that’s a bad thing?”</p><p>“It’s just annoying. I’ve already got a three-star shiny Breloom; I don’t need any more of these little fuckers.”</p><p>Dick really doesn’t know how to respond to that. Luckily, Jason cuts off his dumb attempts at small talk by snapping,</p><p>“Why don’t you cut the crap and tell me what you really want?”</p><p>The acrobat shuts his mouth and looks at Jason— really looks at him— for what feels like the first time. His mouth is set in a firm line, and his eyes look like chips of sea ice. A fading bruise decorates his jaw, and a thin scar snakes up into his hairline. His roots, Dick realizes, are coming in red.</p><p>Huh. He hadn’t known Jason was originally a ginger.</p><p>“Okay,” he admits, “I do have an ulterior motive.”</p><p>“Which is…?” Jason drawls. He tosses his phone aside and folds his arms, looking for all the world like any other teenager. </p><p><em> Except, </em> Dick thinks, <em> this one could break my nose if he wanted to. </em></p><p>“I wanted to apologize. When I met you, I didn’t… well, I wasn’t very welcoming,” he starts. “I had my reasons, but honestly, they've got nothing to do with you. I shouldn’t have been such a jerk.”</p><p>“What reasons?”</p><p>Dick bites the inside of his cheek. Where does he begin? There’s so much to unpack— the slow breakdown of his relationship with Bruce, the meaning of the costume and the colors, the origin of the name Robin… </p><p>“Robin was personal in a way Batman isn’t for Bruce. You know where I’m from, right?”</p><p>“Sure I do. The circus,” Jason says. “Come to think of it, the costume does look like it belongs there.”</p><p>“Because it does, sort of. It’s an armored replica of the one I was wearing the night my parents died,” Dick says. Ignoring Jason’s stunned expression, he barrels on. “Red, yellow, and green were our family’s colors, and Robin was my mother’s nickname for me.”</p><p>“Jesus Christ.”</p><p>Surprised, Dick stops and stares at Jason, who now looks… guilty? “What?”</p><p>“Bruce never told me any of that!” Jason replies. “I thought you picked the colors to, I dunno, draw fire or something!”</p><p>“I didn’t expect him to tell you. That’s why I said I shouldn’t have been angry,” Dick sighs.</p><p>“I’d have been pissed, too,” Jason says. “I’m sorry, too. For taking what was yours.”</p><p>Dick withdraws his phone from his pocket and taps on the browser icon. It opens to the article he’d been looking at last night, the one that has a picture of Jason kicking Killer Croc in the jaw splashed across the front page. </p><p>“I think,” he says, handing Jason the phone, “that you’ve earned it.”</p><p>Jason smiles at him, hesitant but real, and the ball of guilt Dick has been carrying around starts to unravel.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ginger Jason lives in my heart. That is all.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. polaroids</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi! I bring you a very cute chapter. I hope you enjoy it!</p><p>And again, thanks so much for the kudos!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Much to their relief, New York has decided to give the Teen Titans a break.</p><p>Dick is using the unexpected free time to drape himself over the couch and blatantly ignore the voicemails Bruce and Clark have left him. His fingertip makes lazy circles over his phone’s screen, and he narrows his eyes at the Torchic he’s trying to catch. </p><p>
  <em> You are not getting away from me this time, you little— </em>
</p><p>“Hey, whatcha doing?” Someone asks.</p><p>Dick’s finger slips, and the Pokeball he’d been trying to aim spins off-screen. The Torchic flees, leaving him to turn to the newcomer and complain, “Jesus, Gar, you scared me!”</p><p>“Sorry,” the other hero— who is currently in the shape of a calico housecat— replies. He leaps up onto the couch, pads over to Dick, and curls up on his chest. “Were you doing something important?”</p><p>“Nah, just playing Pokemon Go,” Dick answers. He absentmindedly starts running his fingers through Garfield’s forest-green fur. “Where are the others?”</p><p>“Donna and Kory are having another sparring session; Vic is keeping score. I don’t know where Wally is. And Raven is holed up in her room. Again.”</p><p>Dick makes a mental note to ask Wally what the hell is going on with him lately. He has a feeling that getting the speedster to talk is going to be like pulling teeth, but this crap has gone on too long. </p><p>Like. Long enough that he may need to call Roy.</p><p>With a soft sigh, the acrobat sits up. Garfield shifts into a bird to avoid being unceremoniously dumped on the floor. </p><p>“Do me a favor, Gar.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Go bug Raven. Let her know that we’re there for her. You have my full permission to sing <em> Do You Wanna Build a Snowman? </em> if it becomes necessary.”</p><p>(And that’s a <em> threat. </em> Disney songs were banned from the premises after a prank war went too far and the Tower’s speakers kept intermittently blasting <em> I’ll Make a Man Out of You </em>during conferences with the Justice League.)</p><p>“Aye, aye, captain!” Garfield cheers. He flies out of the common room, leaving Dick alone.</p><p>The acrobat stretches, and a yawn spills from his mouth. <em> It’s getting dark. I should head back to Gotham now if I wanna patrol with Jason. </em></p><p>Because, uh, that’s a thing now. Whenever Bruce is out of Gotham and Dick has the time, he heads back to Jersey to run around the rooftops with his (sort-of) brother. Sometimes, they even fight crime.</p><p><em> It’s a fun arrangement, </em> Dick muses as he heads to the garage and hops on his bike. <em> It’s also a dangerous one.  </em></p><p>Because one of these days, he knows that he’s going to run into Bruce— especially now, seeing as the man is actively trying to talk to him.</p><p>
  <em> Took him long enough. </em>
</p><p>Shaking his head, Dick revs the engine and starts heading back to the Manor.</p><hr/><p>He enters the Batcave through the entrance Babs used to use when she was still on the team. It’s easier than dealing with the hassle of going through the main entrance (or god forbid, of traveling through the house itself).</p><p>Jason, who is perched on the hood of the Batmobile, says, “Hey, Dick. Thought you weren’t gonna come.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t miss it— hey!” Dick laughs, shielding his eyes from the flash that brightens the room. Overhead, bats shriek and scatter. “What was that?”</p><p>“I found this on a bookshelf in the library,” Jason replies, presenting Dick with a polaroid camera.</p><p>The acrobat recognizes it right away. It’s one of Donna’s— she had been trying to take a shot of a particularly interesting spiderweb in the chandelier, and when Bruce had entered the room, she’d been startled into stowing her camera between Alfred’s collection of plays and Martha Wayne’s old poems. Dick had meant to get it back for her, but he’d forgotten all about it.</p><p>“Huh. Can I see?” Dick asks.</p><p>Jason hands the camera over and Dick immediately takes the opportunity to snap a picture of him. The younger vigilante makes a tiny, outraged sound and leaps for the still-developing film. Dick holds it out of his reach, teasing,</p><p>“Fair’s fair, Little Wing!”</p><p>“I thought I told you to quit with the dumb nickname,” Jason huffs. He then kicks Dick in the shin, and when the acrobat doubles over in pain, he snatches the picture out of his hand.</p><p>“First off,” Dick wheezes, “that was a dirty trick and I am so very proud. Second of all, never!”</p><p>“Just wait until I find one for you,” Jason mutters. He carefully sets the camera and the two pictures on the keyboard of the Batcomputer. “Anyway, can we take the Batmobile tonight? I wanna drive it.”</p><p>“Uh, has Bruce taught you how to drive? Scratch that— can you even see the road from the front seat?” Dick asks.</p><p>Jason turns away, mumbling a negative, and Dick snickers to himself when he sees that the tips of his ears are red. </p><p>“Don’t worry. I’ll take you out to New York and teach you how to handle a bike, okay?”</p><p>He does just that a few weeks later. Jason nearly crashes right into the Tower, but the momentary heart attack Dick experiences is a small price to pay for his (sort-of, maybe, definitely) brother’s joy.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Donna and Kory frequently sparred one-on-one during this era. They discovered that while Donna was stronger, Kory had more training, so she always won their fights. I mention this for no particular reason (other than I Love Them Both So Much).</p><p>On Jason not being able to see the road from the front seat of the Batmobile: this is both a reference to Space Ghost Coast to Coast (Remember when you stole mom's old Geo Metro / You wore her old bathrobe / Too small to see the road) and a cheerful reminder that Jason was itty-bitty when he died.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. mourning glory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! This chapter isn't very long, but it marks the beginning of the angst.</p><p>Sorry in advance!</p><p>EDIT: Chapter was expanded and re-uploaded. Also, I figured I should state that the title is spelled that way on purpose.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Twelve seconds after the team’s ship touches down, Dick untangles himself from the seatbelt, rips open the door, and somersaults down the ramp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone’s happy to be back on Earth,” Donna teases. She exits the vehicle with much more grace than the acrobat had, floating to the ground as gently as a dandelion seed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, geez, Wondy, it’s not like we’ve been gone for months or anything,” Dick sniffs. “I’m so beyond thrilled to sleep on a surface that is not the ship’s floor. Or seat. Or dashboard—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We get it, drama queen!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick sticks his tongue out at Donna (because he’s a mature adult) and heads into the Tower. The others follow him, chatting softly amongst themselves. Garfield is excited about a video game, Raven is looking forward to some “blessed peace and quiet,” Kory and Victor are deep in discussion about Sarah… everything is as it should be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s Dick’s justification for ignoring his phone— which has suddenly received over a hundred new notifications— and falling face-first into bed.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>When the acrobat wakes, it’s to a soft, persistent buzzing. He groans and buries his face deeper into his pillow. Who the hell is trying to call him? Anyone who would want to talk to him is either a) in this Tower or b) would rather ping his communicator.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He entertains a childish fantasy of it being Bruce, of his father wanting to have a legitimate conversation with him. Of course, that’s a stupid wish; the last time Bruce had called, it was to give him a half-hour lecture about how his costume wasn’t suitable for operations in Gotham. It was too bright, too gaudy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick had reluctantly designed another version of the outfit. It’s black, adorned with only the barest hints of electric blue. He’s still trying to get used to it.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With thoughts like that ceaselessly rattling around in his brain, Dick accepts that he’s not going to get any more rest. He pouts against the pillowcase, reaches out, and retrieves the device from the nightstand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyebrows shoot into his hairline when he sees that the call he’d missed was from Alfred.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, he has a lot of missed calls from Alfred. And unopened emails. And unread texts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The butler never texts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Filled with trepidation, Dick presses the phone to his ear and listens to the last voicemail in his inbox.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>&lt;Master Dick. I saw that the Titans have returned to Earth. Please pick up the phone. Something… something terrible has happened.&gt;</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick finds himself returning the call before he’s fully processed Alfred’s words. The butler’s tone had set off alarm bells in his head; he’s never heard him sound so…  forlorn. Has something happened to his surrogate grandfather? To Bruce? To Babs? Dread churns in his stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, when Alfred answers and explains the situation, the fear he hadn’t even considered is realized.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two hours later, Dick is standing above a grave in Gotham’s largest cemetery. It’s not the first time he’s been in this position. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(It probably won’t be the last.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it hurts, hurts like his sternum has been cracked open and the perpetrator has torn out his heart. Slowly, the acrobat kneels down and lays his hand on the headstone. His knees sink into the dirt, causing him to sway unsteadily.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Loose earth. A fresh grave,</span>
  </em>
  <span> whispers a little voice in the back of Dick’s mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His vision blurs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dead. Jason’s dead, and he hadn’t been there to help him. His </span>
  <em>
    <span>little brother</span>
  </em>
  <span> had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>bleeding out in a warehouse</span>
  </em>
  <span> while Dick was gallivanting around in another solar system.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are morning glory petals scattered around his knees and tears burning on his cheeks. There’s a pounding in his head and regret clogging his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there isn’t a single message from Bruce on his phone.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Morning glories can mean "love that is in vain" and "mortality."</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. keep me together</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! I'm back at it again with the angst.</p><p>On a more serious note, this chapter does reference the events of NTT #55, so TW for child abuse.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dick has spent the past few hours staring listlessly at the ceiling. He’s sure there are things he can or should be doing, but right now, it seems more prudent to lie on his bed and exist.</p><p>He says <em> exist </em> because he doesn’t quite want to <em> feel, </em> despite the warning signals his body is emitting. Nausea churns weakly in his stomach. His head aches. And his cheek, which is hot and tight with pain, is throbbing in time with his heartbeat.</p><p>He lays his fingertips over the injury. They feel like ice against his stinging skin.</p><p>Dick isn’t sure why it hurts so much. He’s been through worse, like the time he’d fucked up a dismount off the pommel horse and wound up sprawled across the cave’s floor, like the time he’d been sparring with Garth and the Atlantean had <em> grossly </em>misjudged his own strength, like the time he’d spent with Two-Face.</p><p>It’s just— Bruce has never hit him before. Not outside of training, not in a moment of pure, unbridled emotion.</p><p>He pushes aside the dark thoughts and tamps down the urge to vomit. He can’t think about this right now. Actually, he’d prefer to think about it <em> never. </em></p><p>To his relief, Dick’s phone rings, providing him with a much needed distraction. He pries his hand away from his face and fishes the device out of his blankets.</p><p>Wally’s name is flashing across the screen.</p><p>The acrobat blinks in surprise. Wally hasn’t kept in touch with the team since he left. He’s been preoccupied with Fran (strange as she is) and is reportedly avoiding any and all things related to heroism. That should include Dick, friendship be damned.</p><p>Unless… unless something bad has happened to him, too.</p><p>Dick picks up the phone, hoping with all his heart that there isn't more bad news. “Hello?”</p><p>“Hey, man,” Wally says. It sounds like he’s in the middle of the city; Dick can pick up the sounds of speeding cars, sirens, and idle chatter in the background. “Haven’t talked to you in a while.” </p><p><em> And whose fault is that? </em> “Yeah, it’s been a minute. What’s going on?”</p><p>“Roy and I are coming over to the ‘Haven to see you. Figured you needed it, after— well. You know.”</p><p>Oh, he does.</p><p>“When?”</p><p>“Uh, in five to ten minutes? Roy’s taking forever to wrap up this fight.”</p><p>“He’s <em> fighting? </em>Why aren’t you helping him?” Dick asks.</p><p>Wally sighs. “Because I’m not doing the hero thing anymore, remember? Don’t worry; he’s got it handled. See you soon.”</p><p>With that, he hangs up. Dick drops the phone, feeling a momentary flash of irritation. He’s going to grill the speedster about this later.</p><p>Right now, though, he has to do something about his face.</p><p>The acrobat heads into the bathroom and starts digging through his supply of makeup. When he finds the palette he’s looking for, he has to take a steadying breath. He never thought he’d have to use his mother’s teachings for this.</p><p>With a shaking hand, Dick spreads yellow concealer over the bruise, wincing every time the brush sweeps over his aching skin. He applies his usual concealer once he’s finished. </p><p>The cover-up is perfect. If he hadn’t known what had happened, what Bruce had done, he wouldn’t see anything amiss. Dick shuts his eyes and spritzes setting spray over his face.</p><p>Somehow, it feels like the final nail in a coffin he hadn’t known he was building.</p><p>-</p><p>He greets both Roy and Wally with a bright smile when they arrive. It doesn’t stop the archer from looking him up and down and saying,</p><p>“You look like shit.”</p><p>“And you’re as handsome as ever,” Dick flirts back. It’s their typical routine in an atypical time. </p><p>Roy isn’t having it. “Cut the crap, Dickiebird. How are you holding up?”</p><p>“Um,” he says, watching Wally zip around his kitchen. He seems to be assembling a platter of snacks. “As well as can be expected?”</p><p>“So not at all?” Wally says. He sets the platter on Dick’s rickety coffee table, and the acrobat realizes it’s piled high with Oreos, pretzels, and marshmallows. Comfort foods.</p><p>Dick picks up a pink marshmallow and squashes it between his fingers.</p><p>It’s hard to explain. He feels like that stupid bottle rocket Jason had to build for physics class, the one he’d assembled while FaceTiming Dick and complaining at length about how <em> Christy really went out and bought Apoxie modeling clay for this, as if fuckin’ Play-Doh doesn’t do the job. </em>Like there’s pressure building up inside his chest and soon enough, the cork won’t be enough to withstand it.</p><p>“Dick?” Roy asks cautiously. “You okay?”</p><p>All the feelings he’s been trying to outrun hit him at once.</p><p>The metaphorical cork pops, and Dick crumples like a marionette with cut strings. Thankfully, Wally is there to catch him. He tucks his face into the crook of the speedster’s neck and shoulder, muffling a sob. Distantly, he realizes that he’s probably getting makeup everywhere, and once it’s all gone, he’s going to have at least twenty more questions to answer. </p><p>He can’t bring himself to care.</p><p>“No,” he whispers. “I’m really, really not.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I love Bruce, and I don't think he's an irredeemable bastard, but he has undeniably hurt Dick (and, uh... most, if not all, of his other kids). I refuse to sweep that under the rug.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. deja vu</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Introducing Robin III!</p><p>EDIT: Because I'm a fool, I uploaded a draft of this chapter instead of the finished product. Sorry about that! I hope you enjoy the full version!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Life goes on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It moves in fits and starts, but it moves. As the months trickle by, Dick picks up the pieces and reassembles himself. If there are a few gaps where he still feels Jason’s presence, well… he supposes it’s to be expected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He doesn’t open Pokemon Go. He archives old texts and files photos away. The avoidance only lasts for a few weeks at a time; sooner or later, nostalgia drives him to reopen his wounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Each time, they heal a little faster. And one day, Dick realizes that though he doesn’t feel happy yet, he’s at peace.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s in the middle of cleaning his apartment when a curveball shatters this peace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s someone at his door. Dick, who hadn’t been anticipating a guest and who has only ever invited a grand total of five people over in the first place, snags one of his escrima rods from the counter before answering it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s greeted with the sight of a kid. He has a box in his hands and looks to be vibrating in place, the way Wally used to do when he ate too much sugar in one sitting. Dick lowers the weapon (fractionally— he knows that even the smallest of children can be dangerous) and asks,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I help you?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dick Grayson?” The kid says. “Um, yes and no. It’s not me who needs help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick narrows his eyes. “Who does?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid hands over the box in lieu of answering. Cautiously, Dick tucks his escrima rod into his waistband, pries open the lid, and looks inside, mindful of the way the boy is watching him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside are photographs. Of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Specifically, they’re of him as </span>
  <em>
    <span>Robin.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Shocked, Dick picks one of the pictures up. He remembers when it was taken— he and Bruce had just wrapped up with a trio of bank robbers, and Bruce had told him they could get ice cream after patrol. He’d backflipped off the rooftop in joy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The photograph is of him in mid-air, and the way it’s framed makes it seem like he’s diving into the embrace of the city. It’s the kind of shot that would win an award. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chest swelling with some emotion he can’t identify, the acrobat takes a closer look at the rest of the images. What he sees makes him drop the glossy paper like he’s been scalded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There aren’t just photographs of him in there— there are photographs of Bruce and Jason, too. Hell, he’s pretty sure the black and yellow smudge in the corner is a picture of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Babs.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“These are all very nice, but I’m sorry, I don’t see what they have to do with me,” Dick stammers. His hand twitches towards his escrima rod, but he feels like he’s pinned under the kid’s razor-sharp gaze. All the moves he considers making suddenly seem wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were Robin. So was Jason Todd. And Bruce Wayne is Batman,” the boy says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignoring the momentary flare of pain that accompanies the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>was,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dick laughs, “Are you serious? Bruce can barely fold his own laundry, and you think he’s Batman? Go home, kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>think;</span>
  </em>
  <span> I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> says the boy. His face is set in determination, and his voice doesn’t shake when he continues, “And</span>
  <em>
    <span> he</span>
  </em>
  <span> needs your help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Several hours later, the kid— who eventually identified himself as Tim Drake, of the Gotham Drakes— has vanished, but his words are still ringing in Dick’s head. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Batman needs a Robin.</b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He does,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dick thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He does, but it can’t be me.)</span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>So of course, Tim takes it upon himself to become Robin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because that’s what sane people do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick, who is perched atop a rooftop and shamelessly lurking, watches as Bruce takes down a car thief. There’s no little bird with him, not right now, but Dick can already see the changes Tim’s presence has wrought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Namely, Bruce is no longer fighting like a man who wants to die.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick is grateful for that, he really is. He can only hope that Tim won’t share the same fate as his predecessor. With a soft sigh, he turns to leave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nearly runs face-first into Bruce as he does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Dick gasps, jerking backwards like he’s been electrocuted. “How did you get up here so quickly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A magician never reveals his secrets,” Bruce says dryly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The joke is so unexpected that Dick starts wondering if he has, in fact, pitched off the rooftop and is currently experiencing an extended hallucination as he bleeds out. “Oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When it becomes clear that Dick has nothing more to say, Bruce rasps, “Nightwing, I… I wanted to speak to you about something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>What have I done wrong?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick is now positive that he’s been dosed with something. Bruce doesn’t apologize. He says as much, and the cowled hero’s face falls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I hadn’t already known that I’d made a mistake, that certainly would have told me. No child should ever be confused by their parent apologizing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, okay. What— what are you apologizing for?” Dick asks. He resists the urge to fidget anxiously underneath Bruce’s assessing gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For many things. But after Jason… died, I shut you out. It wasn’t fair; he was your brother as much as he was my son.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I certainly shouldn’t have hit you. You were only trying to have a conversation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick doesn’t know what to say. He certainly doesn’t know how to feel. For so long, he’s been waiting for Bruce to reach out, and now that the other man finally is, he’s left stumbling, like the tune he’s been dancing to for years is being played off-key.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I accept your apology,” he finally chokes out. “I know that you were going through a lot. Just— can I ask what brought this on? It’s been. Well, a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce glances over his shoulder. It can’t be seen from this distance, but Dick knows that he’s looking at Wayne Manor. “Tim has given me some… perspective. I insisted that I neither wanted nor needed another Robin, but he proved me wrong. And through him, I realized that I’d made so many mistakes with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a deep breath before continuing, “I’ve never been the best at communication. Clark has heckled me for years about how I can work a boardroom, but I can barely hold a conversation with the people I care about. He has a point. You shouldered so much of the burden of maintaining our relationship that when you left, I let you go without a fight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>leave.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You fired me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“From Robin. Not from being my </span>
  <em>
    <span>son.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I didn’t intend for us to stop talking entirely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick bows his head. “Neither did I. But it felt like no matter what I did, I was always going to be wrong, and when you took in Jason, I automatically assumed that I’d been replaced with a better model. It took me a long time to get over myself and talk to him. Too long. I— I think we all made mistakes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can work on it,” Bruce says softly. “Do you want to come back to the Manor tonight? I think it would be good for Tim.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>For Tim. Sure.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I’d like that,” Dick says. “To the Batmobile?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce motions for him to follow along, and Dick leaps after him with a shadow of the same surety he’d had as a newly minted Robin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(As it turns out, Tim is not like Jason in the slightest. He’s soft where Jason was sharp, and sharper still in other places. But, Dick thinks as he watches him raise a camera— a high-end Canon DSLR, not a polaroid— he’s probably just as easy to love.)</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If Bruce had a hint of this emotional maturity in canon... oh, the power he'd have.</p><p>Anyway. I love Timothy Drake so very much.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, hello! Welcome to the final chapter. Unlike my other works, this one doesn't have a happy ending. Still, I hope you enjoy it!</p><p>PS: Happy New Year!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dick’s no stranger to dealing with villains— he’s been doing it every day of his life since he turned ten. But what is strange is Bruce’s complete reluctance to talk about Gotham’s latest problem: the Red Hood.</p><p>“He hasn’t said a word?” Kory asks. She’s in the process of braiding small wildflowers into his hair. Beside them, Raven and Joey are debating something, their fingers flying as the discussion gets more heated, and off in the distance, Vic is tossing a Frisbee for some of Sarah’s kids.</p><p>It’s a picture-perfect day off. Or it would be, if Dick weren’t so damn confused.</p><p>“Zilch. Which is <em> weird,” </em> the acrobat replies. “We wrapped up with the initial case— you know, the one with the heads in the duffel bag— and some shit went down with the Joker. Red Hood got away. Since then, Bruce has gone right back to leaving me out of the loop. It’s like we never had that talk.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, Dick,” Kory says sympathetically. “Perhaps you should ask Tim. He might know something.”</p><p>“Good point. I’ll ask him whenever I’m back in Gotham,” Dick says. He leans over and presses a quick kiss to Kory’s cheek. “But right now, I’ve got a question for <em> you.</em>”</p><p>The princess smiles. “What would that be?”</p><p>“Wanna go get ice cream?”</p><hr/><p>As it is, cases— both with the Titans and in Gotham— start piling up, and the matter of Red Hood gets pushed to the backburner.</p><p>It then ends up exploding in Dick’s face.</p><p>It’s a night like any other when everything goes to hell. He arrives in Gotham and patches into the Bats’ comm frequency, a cheerful quip on the tip of his tongue. But the others aren’t interested in hearing it; they’re frantic, shouting orders back and forth.</p><p>“I’m out of hemostatic powder—” Bruce, more panicked than Dick has ever heard him.</p><p>“You need to get to Leslie’s!” Babs, clearly stressed. “I’ll clear the way!”</p><p>“Hemostatic powder? Leslie’s? What’s going on?” Dick says. </p><p>For a minute, the line is silent— the only things that come through are Bruce’s harsh breathing and the sound of the Batmobile’s engine revving. The noise in and of itself is a threat; the car has a mechanism that completely muffles the engine, and Bruce usually leaves it on that setting.</p><p>Something is very wrong. </p><p>“Batman?” The acrobat asks in a tiny voice.</p><p>“It’s Robin. He was attacked by the Red Hood,” Bruce says. “He’s in critical condition.”</p><p>After that awful statement, there’s a soft click. Bruce has shut off his comms. Shut Dick out, again.</p><p>Well, this time, Dick is going to take action.</p><p>“Oracle, where the fuck is Red Hood? I’m going to end his miserable life.”</p><p>“He’s heading to the Bowery, but Night— Dick. There’s something you need to know,” Babs says.</p><p>Dick leaps over the gap between two buildings, snapping, “What? There’s next to nothing you can say that’ll stop me, not when Robin’s hurt!” </p><p>Hurt, possibly dying. And much like before, Dick hadn’t been there to help.</p><p>“I told Bruce he should’ve told you,” Babs whispers. “There was no reason to keep you in the dark.”</p><p>“Told me what?” Dick hisses. He’s only half listening for the answer, his eyes sweeping back and forth over the street in an attempt to locate his quarry.</p><p>“Dick, the Red Hood… it’s Jason.”</p><p>All the air in his lungs seizes. He’s sure he must’ve misheard; Babs’ words don't make an ounce of sense. But as the seconds march on and she doesn’t retract the statement, he comes to the awful realization that she’s telling the truth.</p><p>“But he’s dead,” Dick stammers. “There’s— people don’t just walk out of that, and besides, we— you— buried him!”</p><p>“We don’t know how it happened,” the heroine says tiredly. “But there’s DNA evidence to prove it.”</p><p>A lot of things are starting to make sense now. The Red Hood’s impressive repertoire of skills, Bruce’s unwillingness to discuss the original case, the abrupt decline in mentions of Jason. </p><p>Their city’s newest maniacal supervillain is his little brother.</p><p>As if the thought summoned his target, crimson winks in the corner of Dick’s vision. He whirls around and spots the Red Hood clambering through the window of the adjacent building. Without a second thought, he rips the comm unit out of his ear, stows it in his pocket, and gives chase.</p><p>He crashes through the window and brandishes an escrima rod. Red Hood reacts quickly, flinging a knife at Dick’s face. The acrobat jerks his head to the side, and the blade embeds itself in the wall.</p><p>“Is it true?” He asks, flicking the switch on one of the rods. It begins to hum with electricity. “Are you Jason?”</p><p>The villain takes off his helmet in response. </p><p>Dick wants to close his eyes and turn away, but it won’t do him any good. The image of Jason, older and more furious than Dick’s ever seen him, has already been burned into his retinas.</p><p>“Hey, Dickiebird. Fancy seeing you here,” Jason drawls. “It’s been a while. Gotta say, the time did nothing for you.”</p><p>Dick ignores the jab, murmuring, “Jay. Oh, Jay, why are you doing this?” </p><p>“Well, jeez, Dick! I fucking <em> died, </em> and then I came back to find that not only was my murderer still kicking, there was another goddamn Robin!”</p><p>“So you tried to <em> kill </em> him?”</p><p>Jason sneers, “I wanted to see if Daddy Bats got any better at training. Guess the answer’s no.”</p><p>Overwhelmed with both rage and confusion, Dick launches himself at Jason. The taller boy— oh, God, he’s taller than Dick now— retaliates with a sweeping kick. Dick jumps over his limb and lashes out with an escrima rod; the weapon gets knocked out of his hand. Realizing that he’ll be better off trying to put distance between them, Jason withdraws a gun from the small of his back and fires.</p><p>The bullet goes wide, and Dick barely spares a second to send up a prayer of thanks.</p><p>“A gun? Really?” He hisses, aiming a punch at Jason’s face. “Do you really think that metal’s going to keep you safe?”</p><p>The blow doesn’t land, but the insult does. Jason growls and knees him in the stomach. The attack knocks the wind out of Dick, and the next strike sends him sprawling to the ground.</p><p>Jason stands over him, panting, “Stay down, Dick, or I’ll cut your throat the way I cut Timothy’s.”</p><p>“What happened to you?” Dick cries. “The boy I knew would never have done this!”</p><p>Because Jason had been angry, yes, but he hadn’t been murderous. And he never, ever would’ve gone after a child.</p><p>“The boy you knew is gone,” Jason says.</p><p>Hearing the finality in his words, Dick scrambles to his feet. Jason throws a smoke pellet. The room fills with acrid fumes, and by the time the air clears, the other boy has vanished.</p><p>Dick runs to the window and leans outside, searching frantically for Jason. It’s no use. He’s slipped through Dick’s fingers again, as quickly and easily as a handful of sand.</p><p>Two thoughts circle ceaselessly around his brain. <em> My brother is alive. My brother is a villain. </em></p><p>The acrobat stumbles backwards and crumples to the dusty floor. Unbidden, he begins to sob.</p><p>
  <b> <em>“It was the first time I really understood how much things can change, that people you love can do things that you won’t understand. It was a breaking of innocence.” — Dave Bayley, Apple Music Editor’s Notes</em> </b>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I borrowed some things from Batman: Under the Red Hood for this, as one does. That's probably the most canon part of this entire chapter; I have no idea who was on the Titans at this time. Too many deaths and revivals, haha.</p><p>The line <em>Do you really think that metal's gonna keep you safe?</em> is paraphrased from Space Ghost Coast to Coast (The actual line is Doom, quake, where'd you get that gun from, eh? / Really think that metal gonna make you safe?). The quote at the end is from Glass Animals' lead singer.</p><p>Well, that's a wrap, but I may play around in this universe again, so stay tuned!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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